


you hit me once (i hit you back)

by thedreamsteam



Series: the dream team fics [38]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreamsteam/pseuds/thedreamsteam
Summary: His hands were hard, hardened by the war, and his mouth was fiery, his temper more so. His wounds were barely healed, his swords only just fixed, and his hands burned with the desire to kill.or, the city is blown up, but that isn't the end of tommy's troubles
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: the dream team fics [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913893
Comments: 5
Kudos: 168





	you hit me once (i hit you back)

**Author's Note:**

> HIIIII
> 
> i have bought tommy youtooz figure pog
> 
> dedicated to ash bc i am so sorry i message u so much but ily
> 
> the title for this fic in google has just been "hi ash :)" lmao
> 
> title from kiss with a fist by florence + the machine

As Tommy watches, the fire burns bright in Dream’s eyes, face lit by the explosions echoing throughout the city.

Dream’s face is clean, not a single little bit of blood in sight, but Tommy can feel the wound trickling down into his face, drying in his hair. It’s dark, and when he glances at his hand, he sees the stain against his skin.

(When he glances at his hand, he thinks about the fact that he is a teenager, hands hardened by war, his body forced to fight, his mouth always moving, always talking, bargaining his way out of death.

He wasn’t meant for his, and his mother’s words still echo in his ears, pleading for him to win. His father’s eyes stay in his mind, the green shining bright, and he remembers the hand clasped onto his shoulder as they stood over his mother’s grave.

“I’m sorry,” he had said, and Tommy’s eyes still burned.

His hands were hard, hardened by the war, and his mouth was fiery, his temper more so. His wounds were barely healed, his swords only just fixed, and his hands burned with the desire to kill.

There was war in his bones, something that wasn’t there when he was young. It was birthed by the death of his mother, hardened by the business of his father (the man was never home, and this was never no fault of his own, he was made to by the universe, but tommy still changed), and in this world, it flourished.

He is a teenager, but he doesn’t know if he knows that as true.)

“What do you want?” He says, his sword blocking another strike, and he only just manages to stop Dream before the man kills him, before he dies (again. what time is it? the fiftieth? the hundredth? thousandth? dream’s killed him more times than he could count, and while some of them are funny, he admits, the others are ruthless. painful).

“I just want to talk.” Dream says, in a sing-song voice, and Tommy frowns. “That’s all you ever want to do, don’t you, Tommy? All you ever want to do is talk and talk, and that’s what you’re known for! Tommy the talkster!”

“Shut up, Dream.” He says, shoving the older man off, and the man goes easily, falling to the ground. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re like that!” Dream says, and Tommy doesn’t make a face. He just stares. And Dream doesn’t seem to like this, because the man is in front of him suddenly, a sword held in his hand, and he’s worried, suddenly, that he’ll die before he gets a chance to say goodbye, before someone speaks from the trees.

“Dream,” the man says, and Dream stops at his words, standing up. His sword is hung loose in his hands, and Tommy watches in horror as he grins.

Wilbur stands by the trees, and Dream moves to join him. They’re the same, he realizes, their armor glinting off of each other, and Tommy is wondering what’s going to happen next. There’s an endless array of options, and for once, he doesn’t know what the man in front of him is going to pick.

(He doesn’t know this man, not anymore. He knew Wilbur Soot, once upon a time, but not now. He doesn’t know Wilbur the traitor, he doesn’t know this man, he doesn’t know who he is or what he stands for.

This scares him.)

“Wilbur,” He says, and he feels his eyes tear up without him wanting them too, and he shakes his head. “Why?”

“What, Tommy? Did you think I truly cared?” The man asks, and Tommy steps forward, and he doesn’t know why he’s moving, not at all, but Wilbur moves back.

There is something spinning in his hands, the light glinting off of it, and Tommy realizes a second later that it’s the discs (and they’re the ones he gave to tubbo. he gave them to tubbo. oh god, what the fuck has wilbur done?).

“I haven’t hurt him, Tommy, don’t worry.” 

Wilbur doesn’t calm Tommy, not at all, and he must see that in the way Tommy moves, because the man sighs.

“I wouldn’t dare hurt a head on his head, Tommy. You know this.” He tries to reason, but he must see Tommy’s face (must realize that tommy doesn’t trust him, not anymore) because he sighs and pulls out a device, tossing it to the blonde. “Check for yourself then.”

Tommy stares at him warily, and when he checks the death chat, he relaxes. He tosses it back once he’s finished, but Tommy’s still wary.

“I don’t love you, Tommy.” Wilbur says as if it’s the easiest sentence in the world. “I don’t. Because to love someone you have to care for them, right? You have to worry about them, and hope that they’re okay, but with you, I just don’t. I just hope for pain.” And with that, he snaps the discs in his hands.

Tommy doesn’t really feel anything when Wilbur does the motion. He feels anger, sure, but it’s buried deep in his chest, and when he falls to his knees, the tears fall down his face without resistance. There’s pain in his body, deep in his chest, but he can’t focus on it.

He can only focus on the broken discs and Wilbur’s wide smile.

Wilbur laughs, bright and loud, and raises a hand, his sword gleaming. There’s the sound of a riptide, and a man lands on the other side of Wilbur, his cape billowing in the wind as he stands tall, his pink hair flowing.

“Are you ready?” Wilbur asks him, and the man grins.

“As always.” His eyes catch onto Tommy’s, and Tommy wonders, is he sorry? Does he know what he has done?

Dream cheers beside them, a stark contrast evident. His teeth are bright when he grins, and his voice is loud as he yells. 

When they leave, Tommy allows himself to fall forward, just this once, and he cries into the grass. The pain is loud in his heart, and for the first time in this war, in this hell land, he wonders who will be the first to die?

Who will be the one killed?

(In another world, Phil stands outside, wings unfurled as he stares at the map, smoothing out the rough bits. It’s not of his world, but the next one over, and as he starts his walk to the nearest portal, he wonders, what will his sons be like?

He just hopes one hasn’t killed another.)

**Author's Note:**

> i impulse changed my user on tumblr its @willsoot now


End file.
